


Sand Dune

by esteefee



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-25
Updated: 2011-03-25
Packaged: 2017-10-17 06:50:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny thinks Steve has a thing.  Turns out it's another thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sand Dune

**Author's Note:**

> Glances on disturbing themes.

"What?" Steve frowned at him.

"Your lips are purple." Danny tried to look away, but couldn't make himself somehow.

With a shrug, Steve lifted something from behind his desk. "Passion fruit shave ice. Want some?" He offered the cup.

"Yeah, because I want to look like a reject from an 80s thrash band, that would definitely improve upon the professional image I'm trying to maintain." But somehow he couldn't stop staring because when Steve licked his lips again, eyeing him, it looked like he was trying to—but no, he was just being a freak as usual, that was all.

Then he grinned, and it just looked ghoulish.

"Okay, that's it. I'm gone for the day."

Danny was a detective, but that didn't mean he went through life detecting. There were plenty of things in his day that got by him; stuff that crept under his radar, wearing away under his incredulity like a sand dune got washed in from the sea, grain at a time, until eventually he was either presented with a glaring fact that had been hidden in plain sight the whole time, or he discovered he had a butt-load of sand crammed in his shorts.

Anyway, in this particular case, when it came to Steve McGarrett, Danny had eventually detected a lot of things—the daily push-push and hands-on and constant sideways looks, all pointing to a game they were playing that seemed to be stuck in instant replay. And yeah, Danny knew there was _something_ between them, a taste in the back of his throat whenever Steve would look at him a certain way, tangy-sweet like that hibiscus tea Chin insisted was good for his oxidant levels or whatever—but Danny could also see a wall there, plain as day. Two walls, maybe, and neither one of them willing to get busy with a hammer.

:::

"You gotta come, brah." Kono had been at her most wheedling—purely dangerous.

"Look, I can't—I've got Grace."

"Bring her to the game," Chin had suggested. "It's a big family day."

Danny said, "You know what, you're right—I need to get her away from the country club crowd." But when he looked over at Steve, expecting a smart remark, there was a weird look on Steve's face that he didn't know where to slot. In between anticipation and concern, right next door to nauseated.

Danny'd had a friend once with a small aneurysm. Until they'd fixed it, it made him look dizzy and kind of pukey like that a lot.

But it was a good time at the game; at least, until 'shots fired'.

:::

"I'm just wondering why," Danny said through his teeth, "and look—I'm tearing up a very nice shirt, here, this is a very nice shirt, Hugo Boss, so pay attention— _why_ , when I tell you, plain as day," he pulled off a clean strip and wrapped it twice around the bleeding, no, more like pouring, cut on Steve's forearm before starting to tie it off tightly, "plain as day I say to you, 'Steven, I believe we should wait for the HPD chopper before going after these guys,' you should take that as a by-your-leave to go charging off into the underbrush!"

He yanked on the knot, maybe a little too hard, because Steve gave a mild, "Ow?" But he was looking up at Danny with a goofy expression, the corners of his mouth tucked tight as if he were trying hard not to smile, his eyes wide and warm.

"What? Why're you? I'm making a perfectly valid point here!"

"That's a terrific field-dressing, Danny."

"Yes! Part of my point, which is, do you see any first aid kit? EMTs? Anyone but us and these two wastes of space?" Danny pointed at the two trussed-up pirates—actual _pirates_ —and why was this life, that he was tracking down pirates on a tiny rock in the North Pacific when he could be kicking back in Jersey with both feet on his desk listening to his captain bitch about the hundred and ten percent humidity?

"We did it though, didn't we? And you fixed me up, so thanks. Thanks, Danny," and Steve gave Danny's hand a pat, which just made Danny realize he still had his hand resting on Steve's forearm right below the bandage, and even though Danny's left thigh was cramping up, he hadn't moved from where he was crouched down right next to him, supporting Steve with his knee so he could work on him.

And Steve was still not-quite-smiling up at him with that same warm look, like Grace when he'd just bandaged her knee.

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it," Danny said, reaching for his cell and in the process nudging Steve off. "Let's find out where those HPD jokers are at. I swear, if you ever let Kono and Chin have time off again at the same time, I will kill you in your sleep."

"I'm a pretty light sleeper."

"I'll put something in that nighttime tea you like."

"I have an alarm system."

"I know, dummy, I made you install it. I know the code."

Now Steve did grin. "Yeah, you do, Danno. You sure do."

It was the blood loss, Danny was pretty sure. That was the only excuse for such a crappy come-back.

:::

Life got pretty busy. Or maybe it always was. Steve had to send away his sister. Danny lost his brother. Someone had a gun near his baby girl, and Danny lost his shit. He found himself wishing Steve, the team, were there with him, but then considering the way he went postal on the guy responsible, he was glad they weren't.

Steve would probably take it as carte blanche for more shark-dipping of informants.

One cool evening out on Steve's beach they were sitting and watching the surf, unwinding with a couple of sixers of Fire Rock and talking about nothing and everything. Steve asked about Grace like he always did, carefully attentive, then snickered when Danny told him she'd been sent to the Principal's office because of her choice for Show and Tell.

"Seriously, I didn't know what she was going to do with them, but I gave 'em to her—four little police evidence bags. She filled them up with pickled chrysanthemum and told all her classmates it was human remains from her Danno's police work. You should see this stuff; it looks disgustingly real, like strips of dried flesh. Even the teacher believed her."

Steve threw back his head and laughed outright. "What an awesome kid."

"Oh, she's a trouble-maker." Danny grinned around the mouth of his beer.

"I wonder where she gets it?"

"Can't imagine. Must be a spontaneous mutation."

"Riiight. So, how much trouble is she in?" Steve bit the corner of his lip.

"Aw, well. Rachel was—that's the weirdest thing, trying to be three parents, because Stan was sort of pissed about the school thing—he worries about her record—but Rachel and I were both laughing about it. Not when Grace was around, of course, but she could tell we weren't really mad. So, we decided to take away her little TV for a couple of days."

"She has her own TV? Jeez, Danny."

"I know, come on, right? Our whole family had one, just the one, and my dad had an iron grip on the remote."

"Our first one didn't come with a remote—or at least, I was the remote for a while there." Steve gave himself a slap on the back of the head. "Channel 9." _Thwack_. "Make it thirteen." He chuckled quietly.

Danny frowned.

Steve frowned a smile back. "What?"

"Nothing." Danny drank his beer.

"So, no SpongeBob for a while, I guess."

"You know my daughter's favorite show—what am I saying, Naval Intelligence, of course you do. You probably had your girlfriend train a satellite on my house."

Steve's face twitched and he laughed too abruptly. "Sure, yeah—nah. Cat's been really cool about a lot of things, but that?" He cut himself off by taking a swig of his beer, a blatantly uncool ploy in Danny's book, and Danny shifted up and sideways in his seat to get a full face view.

"Things okay with Catherine? 'Cause I haven't seen her around lately."

"She's fine," Steve bobbed his head. "They're stationed in the Gulf right now." He looked at Danny directly. "Danny, you know, she's the best, I love her, but we're—she and I aren't—I mean we used to be, couple of years back, but then stuff happened, not—and now we just—" His face froze stupidly and then he went back to his beer.

"Okay. I'm just gonna put that over here—" Danny pointed yonder, "with everything else about you that _makes no sense at all_. What the hell? And also, over-share much?"

"Yeah, right."

"Right, I'm right. Wait, what?"

"Like you don't—nah, forget it. Fine. Fine." Steve waved his hand. "As you were."

"Did you pour that last one in your ear or something? Short out your tiny circuits, McGarrett?"

Steve shook his head, a wry smile on his face. "Can we just go back to talking about Grace?"

"Well," Danny said, and settled back in his seat, "I can always talk about Grace, so yeah. Sure."

"So, you guys took away her TV. For three days." Steve was smiling, a kind of wistful smile that Danny tried not to get. "But she knows you're not pissed, right? You seeing her tomorrow?"

"Bright and early at noon. Picking her up and taking her to the aquarium in Waikiki."

"Oh, man. I spent so much time there as a kid. I love that place." From the open grin on Steve's face, Danny could believe it.

"I've never been."

"Make sure to take her to the petting pools. She can pick up the sea cucumbers and the chitons. Those are the best—they squish when you touch 'em. And don't miss the monk seal, it's got these big eyes that are just—you'd swear you could talk to it. And the jellyfish are crazy, man, totally crazy. You won't believe it, they're like underwater aliens—"

Danny held up his hands. "Okay, okay. You're killing me."

"What?"

"What? The man asks me—you just used up, like, your entirely yearly allotment of words in one minute, my friend. I take it you like this place?"

"I said I liked it. Didn't I just say I liked it?"

"So, you like it. And what I'm saying is, you should come." Danny sat back, satisfied, if a little uneasy.

Steve stared at him. "Nah. No, no, no, man. No way. Nuh-uh."

And that was a lot of refusing. "What? Why the hell not?"

"That's your time, you know, with Grace. Your Grace time. Father and daughter. You get once, maybe twice a week to be with her."

"And I'll still be with her, dummy. There'll just be another person there." As soon as he said it, Danny realized how stupid it sounded, because Steve wasn't just another person. This wouldn't be like taking Grace to a game and the rest of the team being there. This would be just the three of them.

And for some reason the idea was really starting to grow on him, in spite of his concerns.

But Steve was still shaking his head; he had been the whole time. "No way, man. You go; have a good time with Grace." He finished off his beer and dropped the bottle into the bag with the other empties. "It's good. You're a good father. I'm not gonna mess with that. Not a chance."

"Shit. You're drunk." And whole hell of a lot had just become crystal clear. A whole fucking sand dune's worth, blown out to sea.

"Am not."

"Well, you'd better be, to feed me crap like that."

Steve turned with ponderous outrage, and Danny didn't let himself get distracted by the way the porch lamp was painting light over the sharp plane of his cheek, or the shifting ink of his tattoos as he crossed his arms.

"What is wrong," Steve said, and yeah, he sounded more than a little gone, "with not wanting to interfere with the father-daughter dynamic?"

"Niiice." Danny chuckled. "Big words. Psychiatrists' words. I take it you've been seeing a mental health professional as I suggested?"

"We have shrinks in the Navy." Steve gave him a raised eyebrow.

"Touché, pal. However, I see right through your little smoke screen, and I have to tell you, it's pretty pathetic."

Steve's face twisted. "I'm gonna need another beer, huh?"

"By all means." Danny scooped up another bottle from the cooler and handed it over, this time deliberately hanging onto it a little too long, so Steve had to tug it free.

"Gimme." Steve popped it open and flicked the cap at him with deadly precision, hitting Danny in the collar bone.

"Jerk." Danny brushed a few droplets of water from his cheek. "Where was I? Oh, yes. We were discussing how pathetic you are."

"I thought we were talking about the aquarium. Did you know they have a whole tank filled with sharks and ulua? Big bastards. Just drifting along all day long looking for something to eat—"

"Did you know that was a pitiful and transparent attempt to redirect the conversation?" Danny fetched his own beer. "We'll definitely have to take Grace to see the sharks. So she can see what _scary_ really is. You, on the other hand, are scared of the stupidest thing, I cannot believe—my _mother_ , who weighs a hundred and eighteen pounds soaking wet and carrying a puppy, is braver than you, McGarrett, and you want to know why?"

Steve glared and opened his mouth, but Danny leaned over and slapped a damp palm over it, shutting him up.

"Mmrph."

"Exactly. No, wait."

Yanking Danny's hand away, Steve said, "I'm guessing you'll tell me no matter what."

"Because, Steven, she had to go through my grandmother, Raphaela Eliza Williams, the terror of Short Hills, to acquire my father from her clutches. I heard the battle was epic. I heard my grandmother stood in front of my father's Chrysler the day he was driving off to propose to my mother, and held onto the bumper and _begged_ her son not to marry 'that woman.' But my mom managed to win my dad anyway."

"That's..." Steve eyebrows knotted into a confused configuration, "...interesting. But, Danny, what the hell—"

"You don't get it."

"I don't get it, no."

"That might be because you've had five bottles and I've only had three."

"Could be. Could be you're right."

"Doesn't matter, because you're not that drunk, so I'm gonna feel free to take advantage of you."

Steve's mouth gaped a little, which made it perfect, really, just perfect, when Danny leaned over and kissed him.

Steve tasted good. Maybe because he tasted like beer, but Danny probably tasted like beer, too, and he knew Steve liked beer. Steve's cheek was evening cool under his palm, and his lips were warm, and a little slow to react, but then all of a sudden he sighed into Danny's mouth and slipped his tongue under Danny's, a dirty trick the way it was so soft and yet rough against the sensitive underside of Danny's tongue, and the way the slick stroke made Danny's cock stand up in his pants.

He wasn't ready for it—for how hot it would make him to have Steve's hands closing over his shoulders, pulling him in, sliding around to his back, and suddenly they were kneeling in the sand, hunching against each other. Danny pulled hard, felt Steve pulling him in, too—it was the best kind of tug-of-war ever, until Steve decided to break away.

"Hang on." Steve shuffled back and ran a palm over his face. "We shouldn't—"

"No, no, what?" Danny said, even though he could feel the sand grinding away at his knee caps.

"I just—wait a sec—"

"Why? Why do you have to do that?" Danny punched him in the shoulder. "You're crazy-making, I swear to God."

"I just have to understand."

"What's to understand? I figured it out. Look, you're always telling me jump; I jump. This time it's your turn. Honest truth, McGarrett, you ask a lot of a guy. At least I'm not ordering you to dangle off a helicopter or something."

An involuntary smile broke across Steve's face. "Liar. I'm pretty sure I would have remembered that one."

"Okay, look." Danny's knees were killing him, so he got back onto the chair. "The reason I've been—that I haven't before—forget it. Strike that, I'll start again like a not-crazy person. I _wanted_ to, but I thought you had a thing about Gracie and me. I thought it wasn't healthy, and that was the only reason you, you know, had a thing for me."

Steve's jaw worked. "What the hell?" A flush rose on his neck. "You mean like a sick thing—?"

Danny shrugged. "You seemed too interested. In hearing about us, about the stuff we do."

"It's called friendship, for Pete's sake!"

Danny gave him an eyebrow.

"Well, I mean, I like that you're such a good dad, yeah. I like that about you, it means you're a pretty decent guy, but, wow, Danny. That's just—"

"Okay, okay, all right, I said I was wrong, right?" Danny said, "But you do have at least an issue about, you know, fathers in general—"

"Jesus, Dr. Phil, could you give it a rest?" Steve's shoulders twitched. "Not everything is about my—look, he's gone, right? I don't put everything on that situation."

Danny shook his head. "Okay, not touching that right there. Not even a little. But that's not the point, because it turns out, that wasn't the problem. The real problem was, you're scared you'll mess things up for me and Grace by getting involved with me."

Steve cooled down fast, looking away. "Maybe. Yeah, okay—she's everything to you, I can see that; I've got eyes. And I'm not trying to push myself in there, mess things up. I'm not an idiot, Danny."

"You sure about that? Because that is stupid talk right there. You can't possibly mess up Grace and me. We're solid; I guarantee it. And as far as you come in, I mean, how do you think parents have kids in the first place—"

"They aren't you," Steve said grimly. "And they aren't us. We're not—" he made an incoherent, frustrated sound.

"Another one for the nonsense box. Look, I see Grace not nearly as much as I want; you, I see plenty of. You, I get to see all the time, every day, all day, and as much as you are completely crazy-making like a blender in my brain, I swear to heaven, here I am all the time hanging out in my free time on your stupid, sandy beach. Already, Steve."

He saw it hit the stupid lug right between his bunched up eyebrows.

"I mean, what does that tell you? Huh? Other than I should seek professional help. And Grace, she already likes you. You bribed her with dolphins. You think a little girl forgets something like that?"

"Dolphins, huh?"

Danny just smirked and lifted both hands.

"God, Danny." Steve smiled a little, just a small one, broken and hopeful, and Danny's heart gave an alarming, extra-hard beat. Risky in a man his age, way too risky. Steve was going to kill him one of these days, and the funny thing was, it wasn't going to be bullets or bombs—it was going to be that hopeful goddamned smile of his.

"Yeah, babe, we can do this. We're already doing this. Now c'mon. Show me the way to that four-poster of yours, because I have to tell you, it's no life sleeping on a squeaky fold-out."

Steve's eyes widened, but then a grin shattered his face. "Hell, yeah, Danny," he said roughly, ducking his head, "because you should—always, with me."

 _Idiot_ , Danny thought with unwilling fondness as he watched Steve try to extract himself from the lounger, his clumsy attempts betraying his five-beer state, until finally Danny grabbed his arm and hauled him up, nearly overbalancing himself in the soft sand.

"Death of me," Danny muttered. "Seriously." But by then he had his arms full of warm, drunken, way-too-gangly ex-Navy-man, one seriously intent on kissing him and trying to walk at the same time, so he was a little too preoccupied to be irritable.

Steve dragged him upstairs, stumbling and murmuring something between kisses about how he'd try, he'd really try not to mess things up with Grace, how he'd _wanted this, Danny, fuck, you have no idea how bad,_ and something about monk seals again, maybe, Danny wasn't so sure about that part, he found his ears always got blocked up when his mouth was busy like this.

And it wasn't until they were naked, Steve's hands dragging eagerly over Danny's chest and belly as if to reassure himself through touch, head at questioning tilt, that the irritation welled up again, unwanted.

"'M right here," Danny mumbled, embarrassed by the look, by the way Steve bent his head and laid hasty kisses on his neck, his cheek, the corner of his eye. "This is all too fucking real, babe; I can tell because there's sand in my crack. How the hell did I get stand in my crack when I didn't even sit my ass down on the beach?"

Steve gusted a laugh in his ear, making Danny squirm. "It gets everywhere, doesn't it?"

And then they were done talking for a while. Just Steve's fingers on his skin, wanting, sliding down between his legs, gripping, stroking, and Steve's mouth on his, and Danny was guilty, too, because this was so much of everything he had wanted so _badly_ but had thought, _nah, no way,_ couldn't let himself think about, that the luxury of scraping his teeth over the veins on Steve's neck and making him shiver felt like something Danny'd dreamed about once, years and years ago.

The sand was still there in the morning, though.

 

 _End._

**Author's Note:**

> * True story: my best friend's mom sent me pickled red chrysanthemum with a note that it was "Raccoon placenta", stating I should eat it as it was filled with all sorts of fantastic nutrients. It looked disgustingly like dried, red, um, guts. This, I knew, was a total dare; she's a complete wackadoo that way. So of course I ate it and reported back that it tasted sweet and not unlike rose petals. I got total props.
>   
> 
> * I love kinks. This story isn't about kinks, and is in no way meant to be an anti-Daddy-kink story; rather, I think Danny is just protective of anything relating to Grace and his relationship with Grace and was worried, too, that Steve wanted him only as a perceived father-figure when he wanted something more. I hope that was clear.
>   
> 
> * [Waikiki Aquarium](http://www.waquarium.org/).
>   
> 
> * Photo snarfed from [National Geographic](http://blogs.nationalgeographic.com/blogs/intelligenttravel/2008/08/).


End file.
